


Happy Birthday, Sharon

by agentx13



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Birthday, F/M, sharon carter month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentx13/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: Sharon Carter loathes her birthday. December 29. Smack-dab between Christmas and New Year’s. Two important days that people plan their schedules around. She’d known since she was a child that her birthday isn’t one of the important days.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 23
Collections: Sharon Carter Month





	Happy Birthday, Sharon

Sharon Carter loathes her birthday. December 29. Smack-dab between Christmas and New Year’s. Two important days that people plan their schedules around. She’d known since she was a child that her birthday isn’t one of the important days.

It wasn’t necessarily the her elementary class celebrating her birthday bunched in with the holiday party, a hurried birthday song before excitedly talking about holiday plans, that tipped her off. It wasn’t the teacher forgetting her birthday altogether. It was before she’d been in school, when her parents discussed when they could fit her birthday in, when none of her friends could come to any party because they were always out of town with family or had rarely-seen family visiting.

Really, the moment had come at four years old, when her mother had asked her to move their birthday arrangements because her parents wanted to go to a cocktail party.

In the years following, she’d gotten more joint gifts than any of her classmates, and the bitter taste of envy had set in.

No, the feeling was worse than envy over getting individual gifts and individual parties and people who weren’t celebrating her birthday out of a sense of obligation before running to other parties.

It hurt knowing people didn’t care about her.

The rest of the year she could convince herself that people cared. She had friends. She had things to do.

But always, on her birthday, she had the sinking feeling that she didn’t matter as much as she thought. Her birthday is an afterthought.

She supposes she should be grateful her mother made time to go to the hospital while in labor.

She tried, at one point, to celebrate her birthday in June, but no one had remembered that, either.

* * *

Steve asks about her birthday on one of their early dates.

Her loathing takes him by surprise, and she confesses that she hates that on the one day of the year she might hope to feel special, she ends up feeling worse than any other time of the year. She doesn’t say it makes her feel worthless, but she suspects he picks up on it. Steve is clever like that. Understanding like that.

“I’ll remember,” he promises.

She grins but doesn’t let herself believe it. “What makes you think we’ll still be together in December?”

“It won’t have anything to do with whether or not we’re still together.”

Sure enough, they don’t last until December. They broke up a lot in their early days, each more inclined to break than bend in their younger years.

And yet, on December 29, she arrives home to find a small package on her doorstep. A birthday card from Steve, some flowers, and a small cake.

She doesn’t tell him until years after they’ve gotten back together (and fallen apart, and gotten together, so on and so forth), but it’s part of the reason she wanted to get back together. She doesn’t tell him for a while longer that his kindness that day had made her cry.

* * *

But that was then.

True, Steve has never forgotten her birthday, true to his promise. Every birthday of hers that he isn’t lost in space or the time stream or believed dead, there’s a little gift for her somewhere she’s sure to find.

This year it’s a pair of pearl earrings. He’s had to leave early on a mission with the Avengers, but he sends her his love and best birthday wishes in a note on the counter, and she puts on the earrings while she fixes coffee and gets ready for work. Just because it’s the holiday season doesn’t mean people are going to magically stop being assholes.

The first up is Taskmaster. Of _course_ it’s Taskmaster.

Taskmaster, in Sharon’s professional assessment, is _weird._. He’s more other people’s problem than hers – hell, he’s even a match for Steve some days. Sharon doesn’t fight him very often; he’s more likely to fight Natasha or Bobbi or Steve. Sharon’s had very few run-ins with him, fortunately.

Given his usual sparring partners, she doesn’t want to think about how easily he must have ripped through her agents to get a video comm.

In accordance with his being weird, _she’s_ the one he demands to speak to.

As soon as he comes up on the screen, he gives her as much of a smile as his skeletal face can. “SHAROONNNNNNNN!!! Looking _good._ ”

Did she mention how much she hates her birthday?

“Taskmaster. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I hear it’s your birthday!”

_That_ gets Sharon’s attention. She does a double-take and stares at him. “Uh. Yeah.”

“I was going to get you a card, but I have a thing about not trusting government agencies – and that includes the post office. I’d have sent you something, but. You know. If it isn’t a bomb, why bother?”

“Wait. Did you attack our agents to wish me a happy birthday?”

“No! I attacked _your_ agents to wish you a happy birthday! Have a good one. I’ll be seeing you!” His voice is cheerful, but it also sounds unmistakably like a threat.

He drops the comm, and Sharon’s left blinking at the sight of some of her agents, unconscious but alive on the floor.

She gives directions to get a medical team there ASAP.

The team in the control room obliges, and then one turns and awkwardly says, “Happy birthday, ma’am,” kicking off more awkward birthday wishes.

Not her worst birthday, Sharon reasons, but definitely her weirdest so far.

* * *

Flowers arrive at lunch. A dozen roses. She suspects they’re from Steve, maybe something pre-arranged before his mission that morning.

The card is from Faustus.

She doesn’t throw away the roses. She knows she ought to. But she can’t bring herself to do that.

Not when the garbage disposal is so close to the trash can. A bit of lighter fluid and a match, and the sprinklers go off, but the roses aren’t an issue anymore.

She does, of course, have to explain why she did it. Which means she has to explain where the roses came from. Which means she has to explain why he sent her roses.

“Happy birthday!” the security guards tell her brightly.

She tries to feel like she wants to die with embarrassment, but part of her is actually kind of pleased.

* * *

At a quarter past one, a basket is delivered to the control room. It’s full of wine, cheese, and fruit. This, she thinks as she reads the card, isn’t Steve’s style, but all right.

She drops the card and sighs. It’s from Baron Zemo.

She rubs her temples and gives orders for it to be incinerated. Damn it. That basket had looked good, and now she’s craving wine, cheese, and fruit.

He calls over the video comm half an hour later, a glass of wine in one hand and a bit of cheese on a toothpick in the other. She doesn’t want to ask how he intends to partake of either with his mask on. Is he just using them as props?

“Agent Carter,” he greets her. She doesn’t like the way her name rolls off his tongue. “I trust you got my gift basket.”

“Did you seriously just hack our comms to tell me that?”

“Not at all.” He lifts the cheese to where his mouth ought to be, remembers his mask, and sets the cheese aside. “I wanted to offer you birthday greetings. All these years, and I had no idea you were a December child.”

“Because I seem like such a sweet summer child,” she groused.

“Actually, yes.”

She stares at the feed. This is the weirdest goddamn birthday. “We had to incinerate it. On account of your being a known terrorist.”

“I’m not a known terrorist all the time,” he said. “Shame, though. That was excellent wine.”

She isn’t sulking if no one mentions she’s sulking.

“Ah,” he says, studying her face. “Perhaps I should deliver it to your home next time? If you’d give me your address…”

“Thank you for the birthday wishes, Zemo.”

“Helmut, please. Happy birthday. _Sharon._ ” Just like her last name, he rolls her first name in his mouth like it’s a treat he can unwrap with his tongue. She almost misses Taskmaster.

The feed ends, and Sharon wonders if she’d have incinerated the basket if he’d sent her some stronger alcohol.

One of her agents spin around in her chair. “Ma’am. Do you- do you have a rogues’ gallery? Like Captain America?”

“It’s not really a gallery,” Sharon says uncomfortably. “More like a bunch of masochists who don’t know what’s good for them.” That was true enough. Several of them _did_ seem to like it a bit too much when she beat the crap out of them. Or at least, they liked her more afterward. Each and every one. Hell. She’d knocked out both Faustus and Zemo, and she’d had to burn both their gifts.

“You’re so cool,” the agent breathes.

Sharon rubs her temples. “Somebody find me a hostage situation. I know there’s got to be one. Check Nakatomi Tower.”

One of the male agents twists in his seat. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he wants to ask if Nakatomi Tower is real. After a beat, though, he slowly twists back around and instead looks at the agent who had asked her about a rogues’ gallery.

“So cool,” he breathes in agreement.

* * *

She calls Steve before she heads home.

“Happy birthday, birthday lady,” he greets her.

She grimaces, though she never minds as much anymore when _he’s_ the one acknowledging her birthday. “Thanks for the earrings. Any idea when you’ll be home?”

“Not yet. We’ve got to go through some debriefings with the local government and set up a game plan for where to go from here. Why? Not a bad day, I hope.”

“A _weird_ one.” She tosses her bag in her car. “I might have a rogues’ gallery.”

“Congratulations?”

“Taskmaster beat up some of my agents to wish me a happy birthday. Faustus sent flowers. Zemo sent wine. And cheese and fruit.”

Steve makes a choked grunting sound. “Suddenly my earrings don’t seem so impressive.”

“I had to incinerate everything. So I’ve been craving wine, cheese, and fruit for _hours._ ”

“Why would Zemo send you wine? And the other stuff?”

“Oh. He’s asked me out a couple times. In typical bad-guy fashion, he’s not great with the concept of ‘no.’ He’s not that bad, though. Easy to strangle.” She pulls onto the road. “Well. I’m on my way home. Want me to order anything for you for dinner?”

“You’re getting takeout on your birthday?”

“Would you rather I go somewhere and wait for you to come back from your mission?”

Steve grunts. “Next year I’ll do this right,” he promises.

“And make food the day before to reheat in case you get called out?”

“Exactly.”

Sharon grins to herself despite the traffic that quickly impedes her progress. “Eh. It wasn’t a bad birthday. Just a very weird one.”

“With the highlight being my earrings?” he wheedles.

“You keep calling them your earrings,” she mock-complained. “As if you’re going to get them back.”

“I’ll think of some way to make it up to you,” he promises.

“You always do. I’ll be home in about an hour. Call me when you’re on your way home?”

“Will do.”

She hangs up and cranks up the radio. She has a long drive ahead of her.

Of course, as much as she wants to relax with the music (for once, not NPR, because it’s her birthday, damn it), she can’t bring herself to do it. With the day she’s been having, the Red Skull might pop up in her backseat to wish her a happy birthday.

Feeling a bit silly, she checks the backseat. Just to make sure.

The Skull isn’t there, but that just makes Sharon more suspicious. He might be waiting for her along the route. Or one of the Hydra queens. Or, hell, maybe one of Spider-Man’s villains wants her number.

This is definitely the weirdest birthday she’s ever had.

* * *

“Don’t panic.”

She jumps, her hand automatically reaching for her gun. She recognizes the voice before she makes contact. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I could have shot you!”

“That’s why I told you not to panic,” Steve says peaceably. He moves closer and rubs her shoulders. “It didn’t take as long to get home as I thought it would.”

She sighs and sheds her messenger bag and weapons. “I guess we can go to dinner after all?”

“Or,” he says, and steps aside.

Familiar faces tumble from behind walls and jump up from behind couches and chair. The “SURPRISE” is more or less on cue.

Sharon doesn’t care that the harmony is a bit off. Her hands go to her mouth. Her and Steve’s place is decorated from the floor to the ceiling, banners and streamers stretching across walls and halls overhead. There’s a huge cake with too many candles.

And there are so, so many people.

She stares at Steve in disbelief.

“The mission today was to decorate,” he explains. “Natasha, Sam, Bucky, and Tony helped.”

She keeps staring.

“Are you- Are you _speechless?_

She nods dumbly, and he throws his head back and laughs, then kisses her. “Happy birthday, Sharon.”

* * *

Sharon regains her powers of speech and is able to interact with everyone’s who’s come. She can’t believe she knows them all. She can’t believe they made time to come.

It can’t last, of course. She fights the urge not to cling to Natasha, Bucky, and Sam, the last of the guests to leave. She understands they have their own lives to get back to and that she can’t make this night lasts forever.

The door closes behind them, and Sharon takes a deep breath.

“I hope that means you’re getting ready to help me clean all this up,” Steve tells her as if he hasn’t already cleaned most of it himself.

She moves toward him, her steps steady, and wraps her arms around him. “Thank you.”

They’re close enough together that all he can kiss it her forehead. “My pleasure.”

She turns her face and surveys the mess they haven’t cleaned up yet. She smiles to herself. “This was a good day.”

“Well,” Steve says, his arms tightening around her. “It isn’t technically over yet.”

She turns her face up to him. After the kiss, she hums happily and smiles again. “You’re just trying to woo me away from Zemo.”

Steve groans.

“He _is_ a baron.”

“And as a lowly captain, I’ll have to work very hard, I imagine.”

“Or maybe not. He almost tried to eat cheese through his mask earlier today.”

“That’s why I keep my mouth uncovered,” Steve says.

“Oh, is _that_ why?” She kisses him again. “No other reason?”

He clears his throat. “Why don’t you go put on your birthday suit while I finish up here?”

Her eyes narrow. “Just to make sure… you _do_ know what a birthday suit is, right?”

He looks at her, exasperated. “Yes, I know what a birthday suit is. And I want to see you in yours.”

“Whose birthday is it, anyway?” she teases.

“Still yours. Trust me.”

She stills, watching him. Ever since they first got together, she’d always trusted him to do the right thing. Slowly, she’s come to trust him with her, too. Trusting him had taken effort.

It’s been worth it. So, so worth it.

She kisses him again. “Thank you,” she says again.

“Don’t thank me yet. I still have…” He looks at the clock. It’s past midnight. “Let’s say until dawn.”

She pulls away and takes his hands in hers. “Leave the mess for now.” She walks backward toward the bedroom.

“You’re sure?” His words suggest hesitation, but his steps do not.

She’s barely nodded before he’s caught her in his arms and is carrying her down the hallway.

“If you’re sure,” he says, sounding as if this is only logical. She starts kissing his neck, but he turns and catches her lips in his. “Happy birthday, Sharon.”

She smiles. It really, really is a happy birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I should point out that "Birthday" is one of the potential prompts for next year's Sharon Carter Month, so if you'd like to vote for it, and others, please click [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1goHBjj2uGHsi5JVNTwyxcFecFHwsTkSPIbtbZKe7eQ0/edit) and vote away! Poll is live through New Year's Eve!


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